


Batsy Be My Valentine.

by Princ3OfCrim3



Category: Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: F/M, Forced, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence, Voyeurism, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 07:43:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princ3OfCrim3/pseuds/Princ3OfCrim3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Its Valentine’s day in Gotham, and Joker has a surprise for the Bat! Is it Chocolate?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bruce

### Bruce

###    
  
It was that time of the year again. Love was in the air and in the meaning of capitalism; businesses were booming. The inhabitants of Gotham scurried along the chilled sidewalks and drove along ice-covered pavement in haste to please their loved ones with an abundance of worthless items. Bits and pieces seen on television or heard on radios, infomercials alike, spoiling the consumers; brainwashing one to buy roses, candy, or bears. Although, that was in the world of blue collar, middle management, individuals that barely scrape by day to day.  
  
In the world of white collar, where there is no expense to thrill another’s companion, and the careless spurs of cash thrown relentlessly in the proverbial air. There was a social gathering to celebrate the success (one of many) of Gotham’s well-known wealthiest bachelors, Bruce Wayne. On this very evening, commemoration of spreading love and understanding as well tolerance, Wayne Enterprises had held an annual function in support of Wayne Foundation. A charity devoted to helping the victims of crime and preventing people from becoming criminals, themselves. Such an extensive party held on top of one of the two Wayne towers.   
  
The labelled irresponsible, superficial playboy was of course the center of attention. The six foot-two, blue eyed, dark haired philanthropist was in the core of the room with a woman on each arm and a smile along his stunningly gorgeous features. Bruce’s boyish characteristics were not the only thing that held the eyes of the opposite sex. A sense of fashion caught their interest as well. The CEO of Wayne Enterprises was wearing a fine black Armani suit detailed of his measurements; one that compliments the years of training, flaunting the muscular exterior of the rumored reckless individual. “…Then she said she was a vegetarian!” A soft chortle expels from Gotham’s wealthiest bachelor. This fictitious side of him was known to the people of the city he spent most nights, if not all, safe from criminals. _‘Oh, Bruce…you can always make me laugh.’_ A busty brunette, whom stood in black red-bottom heels and a cherry hued confined dress that spilled her cleavage grasped along the jeering male’s muted colored tie and peck his cheek. “…whoa, Cheryl if you keep this up. You will make Diana jealous.” Bruce pinpointed onto the other woman or visually stunning accessory along his left arm; she was hiding her grimace beneath vibrant blonde tresses as she sipped along her glass of champagne, trying to ignore the sly moves of her competition.  
  
 _‘Well, Bruce considering the choice of your apparel…no offense isn’t a little extravagant for this affair? Alas, it is nothing more but a handful of us here. You are among friends.’_ An older and rather overweight gentleman that could be no more than forty had inquired the constant fashionable approach to gatherings of supporter and friends, a like. _‘I mean it is an informal event.’_ Apparently, clueless on the unspoken rules of keeping a professional look no matter what event Wayne partake in either it would be formal or not. The detective upheld his clumsy persona and continued to smile, until, he broke his inattentive demeanor with a chuckle. “Well, Chuck…in the words of Mark Twain…” He drawled, ignoring the sudden interest in Chuck’s eyes; most likely in skepticism of the known play boy to be acquainted with anything of Twain and continued. “…Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society. Now, Ladies…excuse me.” The known heart-throb, Bruce Wayne, excused himself by grasping both hands of Cheryl and Diana and pecked the back of them and disbursed within the crowd of the party, before settling within a corner away from the thriving masses of the public. “Yes, Alfred.”  
  
Moments ago, Bruce realized in the middle of his verbal banter his cell, residing within his pocket, was vibrating. He took out the petite device and already found himself walking out on his own event with a stern look along his features.  
  
 _‘Master, Bruce…I believe it is in your best interest to come home right away. I believe the Joker is trying to obtain the Batman’s attention and I must say…it is…quite peculiar.’_ Alfred, a long time caretaker and father figure of the dark crusader, pronounced as he walked around in the Bat Cave. The elder occupied himself with juggling the cordless as he was cleaning countless of priceless relics here and there.  
  
“When has that ever change, Alfred.”  
  
 _‘Indeed, sir…well, I sent the town car…it should be there shortly.’_  
  
An endearing noise, hinting that Bruce was impressed, “I see it now. I will be home soon.”


	2. What Are You Up to Joker?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its Valentine’s day in Gotham, and Joker has a surprise for the Bat! Is it Chocolate?

Funny how the mind works…A word, maybe even a sound could puncture an unsuspecting victim; instantaneously flooding the body with sensation and if the intended targeted mind is weak enough…a picture would surface in the mind’s eye, producing a spark. A spark that belonged to a grim and dusty light bulb, belittled with cobwebs tucked away in the depths of the beholder’s psyche.

The detective loosened his tie as he walked through the door of his home, Wayne Manor. He greeted Alfred with a swift nod, before he welcomed aid in the removal of his suit jacket as he fought with the numerous of buttons along his white dress shirt. “Has anything transpired since we last spoke, Alfred?” Upon receiving that all knowing look; one that betel the detective to hurry and with that he rushed down toward the Bat Cave, using one of many secretive pathways; mainly the detectable grandfather clock and vanish in the darkness.

A whisper of death in white coating, impersonating something of great value before there was misery. A thought or a worthless memory and once Wayne settled in front of one of many monitors within the Bat Cave. He witness eerie movement along the screen; abrupt shuttering along the monitor ceased and beheld an image of a high-heeled shoe. It was no ordinary pump as it was décor in a ‘ _sick_ ’ manner; its heel rose five inches off the ground, accented with metal spikes embedded into the double platform, giving its skeletal look. Whilst, its body discolored, depicting a hue of burgundy. A perfect distinction away from the crammed limb that had three red polished toes peeking from the device made for illusion. High heels tend to give the aesthetic illusion of longer, more slender legs and as the camera panels upward, it was apparent the engage footwear had done the owner justice. Well-developed, yet willowy limb covered in a thin sheet of vibrant green nylon plastered its way onto the screen.

It was unnerving how quickly the vision of such a thing made the dominant alter ego of Bruce Wayne, Batman, attentive enough to claim the throne of consciousness. His hands affixed within a prayer like notion, before it was glued along his thin lips; cerulean eyes, narrowed as he observed the environment of this odd showcasing. Alas, the miniscule tasks of shredding the layers of Bruce Wayne, the true mask, thrown on the back burner as Batman remained in place, shirtless and pensive… **’What are you up too, Joker?’** A question that has danced around the detective’s mind now, for years…When would their unorthodox vendetta end?

However, before the Batman’s inquiry could be answered…the prescribed feed from multiple screens continued. Many monitors mirrored the seductive notions of a person’s physique, considering one’s hips publicized onto the viewer’s computer screen. Although, the source seemed to have trouble; the camera was teetering off its pedestal or maybe, the operator was careless enough to allow the lens to depict a slanting atmosphere. This left Batman or anyone else watching for that matter, little to go on, except the following, it was a live feed and the connection merely gave out.

“Damn,” A stern voice resonated within the Bat Cave; one depicting disappointment as well irritation. For a moment, Batman thought giving the Joker his full attention was a waste. However, with the thought of ignorance rooted, the savior of Gotham did not budge from his seat. He stared at the little icon Joker conquered onto the screen for his dodgy site; one, illustrating technical difficulties with ironically, a sad face. If it was not for the prerecorded _‘whoopsie daisy’_ Batman would of left and investigated the demented jester’s old hideouts aimlessly.

Nonetheless, he was stilled by recurrence of the live feed as it displayed a visual of ample flesh that becomes distorted with static along the monitor. This caused the detective to focus on the details by leaning forth enough to pick out small elements in the background. Yet, another stalemate, he sat back when something crude caught his attention. Mounds of one’s backside seize the frame. Then, a pair of petite sized hands with slender digits cunningly adjusted the silk material of lingerie shaped as boy shorts by inclining the tip of fire engine red polished nails inside the curvature of the ridged material. Subsequently, the task hid the bounteous flesh shown, prior…


	3. Troublesome Fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its Valentine’s day in Gotham, and Joker has a surprise for the Bat! Is it Chocolate?

_‘Mmph…Mmm…Damnit Joker—I knew you were a fruit. But this is ridiculous…Argh!’_ Unexpectedly, the camera’s lens fled from the ethereal figure and focused in on the restricted over-sized detective named Harvey Bullock, which recently received a meringue-flavored pie to the face from afar. Theoretically, the officer was like many individuals of Gotham on Valentine’s Day; searching the internet for either love or a one nightstand. Compelling enough, the portly detective with shorten ravenous tresses answered his ad on Gotham’s lonely-hearts web page.

Hence, here they were in one of Gotham’s shabbiest hotels, Gotham Inn. Of course, it was gentlemen’s choice. The clumsy detective was all too eager to pay for the night; the rates were ridiculously cheap as well the furniture. The motel had a reputation for catering toward dubious characters such as women or men of the night, drug dealers, and unfaithful politicians and cops.

“Mm, that’s funny considering you…Harvey, answered my post. Six foot, fetish heels with a pair of legs that do not quit. It was obvious that I was a man.” A crackle escaped from the gender-bending clown as he watched the clearly disgusted officer turn red in the face as he fussed with the Joker’s custom-made shackles, rigged with his toxin that would make anyone insane with laughter. Although, humorously, the big tub of lard was fussing with bits of meringue-flavored pie that was cascading along his face; either blinking away the contents or huffing out from his nostrils.

“Oh, do not tell me…you are a victim of uncommon circumstances…Perhaps, you are in the closet, huh…A bear looking for his cub?” The homicidal clown inquired, fussing with countless of raven tresses of his wig that coiled with each twist of a finger, before cascading his hands downward. The jester dressed in drag toyed with his garter belts that connect with his amethyst sheered corset. The whole assemble was something to be marveled as it embraced the psychopath’s willowy frame; depicting his ink along his arms as well the scars and bruises from his run-ins with the Bat, over the years.

_‘Fucking Freak…’_ Grumbled, the over-sized detective as he shook his head, ridding remnants of pie from his face; fishing the whipped cream with the tip of his tongue that Harley had thrown, prior…it was obvious that the officer fled towards food when the pressure was upon him. This was something that Batman picked up on a few of his visits at the Gotham City Police Department; something was always stuffed within his mouth, mainly doughnuts.

_‘Hey, join the club, toots.’_ A remarkably masculine dressed Harley entered the scene, the suit she was wearing was one of her pudding’s own and it consumed her. Apparently, she was the camera operator all along. She left the recording device on the small table that would have a direct visual of the three in the small, run down motel room. _‘Muah,_ ’ sweet melody spewing from her darken lips. The cohort of Joker blew a kiss toward the mastermind of this little chilling film.

“Harley…who told you to come out—ooh!” A little giggle spilled from the Joker as his backside was smack from the ‘ _man_ ’ of the relationship.

_‘Yah, I don’t know…I suppose this suit makes me ah, powerful…’_ The following clown teased her pudding more as she drove her hand within her own wig that shorten elongated blonde strains.

In response, the Joker wrapped an arm around his smaller companion. It was obvious, that the two had lost track of the overweight detective and the ongoing live feed. Even their observer, Batman was beginning to become uncomfortable and he left the multiple monitors illustrating the uncanny scene as he finished suiting up. The dark crusader had already placed tracing markers through the live feed. It was only an amount of time that his computers would give him direct coordinates rather a vague destination point. Something a signal jammer would provoke in the means of misdirection. After, placing the mask along his stern features; his cerulean hues went back to the screens, observing Bullock’s Hell.

The two jesters were in their own little world. The clown in women’s clothing flourished his touch along his Harlequin Doll, whom was dressed in men's clothing. It was arousing to think on switching roles for the night, the night destined for love, Valentine’s Day. He grasped his partner’s backside that was drowning in the swimming attire of his slacks that later drifts along the back of her thigh; shortly, lifting her diminutive frame among his taller and much powerful one.

_‘Oi..Oi…I don’t want to be here…watching you two freaks, making out or whatever the lot of yous do.’_ The annoying pitch of Harvey Bullock’s voice interrupted the lustful atmosphere of the room. Although, from the outside looking in from the position of a ‘ _viewer_ ’ on Joker’s dodgy site; Batman agreed with that as he stood with his Armour claded arms along his chest.

Of course, on the opposite side of the lens the comment caused the wigged comedian to pull away from Harley and lunged out with a quick right hook toward the officer’s jar. Upon, hearing a surprised cough that seemed to be a curse of some sort Joker then, pulled out his revolver from his ‘ _bosoms_ ’ and placed the barrel of the gun within the restrained male’s mouth. “Keep it up, fatso…next thing you’ll know I will have you squealing like a pig.” The appealing jester contorts his face mimicking a few noises of such a filthy animal, as he crudely pummels the gun inside an unwilling orifice. However, the current raven haired male smiled as he heard the violent fits of choking and gurgled cursing aimed his way. Until, he withdrew the slicked gun, leaving Harley to shove a ball gag inside Bullock’s mouth.

Presently, the Joker trotted over toward the camera. Undergo the clicks of his five-inched heels, the clown Prince of Crime bent over with a smile etched along his masqueraded features. “Owhh, I wonder if Bats is watching—if so…naughty-naughty…naughty!” He laughed, manically as Harley was in the background smacking Harvey’s plump cheek, before settling down on the mattress. It was obvious to the lunatic that held the recorder his number one fan would be watching! He actually counted on it. Yet, if Joker knew that Batman was boiling with anger as well aggravation from his prior taunts on the portly detective; indeed, the deranged comedian would have been squealing with delight.

“See…I felt sad on Valentine’s Day. I thought if I had a Valentine…should the Bats have one too?” He broadcast, pulling away to address his sensual attire with a humorous curtsy, before he turned away to no later poise with a lollipop dwelling in his mouth. “Hmph, beats seeing me in a thong, huh, Bats?” A small crackle slipped from semi-glossed lips of dissolving sweetness of the sucker in hand. “Listen, I hijack this connection to you and other pervy lonesome Gothamites for about mm…forty-five minutes that gives you, until midnight. Let’s see if the savior of Gotham actually has a heart.” He sighed, as he stuck the candy back in his mouth; suckling it lewdly as he moved out of the way to expose a frustrated Harvey.

“If you don’t come and rescue this idiot of a cop…he will die with a permanent smile on his face.” Harley laughed for him, as the heart shape candy was just to tantalizing to escape. However, he did break away and say this: “Happy Valentine’s Day, Batsy…I’ll be sure to be done within mm, thirty.” This time he did laugh, before Harley pulled him back onto the bed—where, the covers were kicked onto the floor and articles of clothing thrown in every sense of direction. In due time, even Bullock had to look away with a redden hue courting his features as he was spoke too. “Oh…don’t worry big boy—you’ll be included, soon…that's what the other fifteen minutes are for…”

Crudely, enough the connection fizzled and died leaving a contemplative dark crusader in the midst of the bat cave. There was an efflux of emotion that claimed the man that devoted his life in preventing crime to halt the re-occurrence of lost when he was a child. The visual of his parents sprawled beside him; lifeless, it was a painful reminder on why he pushed his body to the limits far beyond man to stop men, like Joker—whom did not believe in the concept of Good vs. Evil. “Damn it, Joker.” Underneath, the sounds of the bellowing cape as Batman turned away from the sleeping monitors; he hustled towards the Batmobile. The superhero’s voice was virtually strained with hidden undertones of resentment as well…desire? Which, was quickly discarded as he pinned his “ **alter-ego** ” Bruce Wayne as the culprit with his excessive drinking to fuel his playboy tactics and the effects were hindering his thoughts and body; leaving him with the results of his mildly aroused tendon pressing against his batsuit. Needlessly, to say Batman had more than two words to utter towards the masqueraded menace as he drove out of the bat cave; ironically, like a bat out of Hell.


	4. Mad Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its Valentine’s day in Gotham, and Joker has a surprise for the Bat! Is it Chocolate?

It was not planned for the connection to die out just in case Batman wanted a little show as well other estrange hearts of Gotham. However, the feed was lost in the crossfire of Mother Nature’s incoming storm. The skies were lit in a blaze; gloomy fluff entwine with spurs of lightning as the moon was nowhere in sight, hiding from danger that threaten civilization, below as howls of unbridled winds in the distance aggravated the shabby window panes of Gotham Inn. Possible forewarning of what is to come for both parties on the proverbial war of the ancient Chinese proverb Yin and Yang, a formation of Hell in a shape of a bat, a creature of darkness; boarding vengeance, and a chaotic foe disguised as a joyous creature a motif of light, the clown.

However, the two demented jesters did not mind the approaching storm as their minds were crammed with lust and feverish temptations of the body. Shrills of glee spilled from either dark or red tarnished lips at the sight of articles of clothing thrown onto the hard wooden floors of the motel room; which, instantly left bundles of aesthetic beauty. The countdown to midnight has started and time quickly dwindled down towards the big finale in meeting the Bat for Valentine’s Day.

Yet, in the midst of ridding months worth of sexual frustration from being imprisoned in Arkham, low rumbles of thunder and vibrant strikes of lightning seized the occupied motel room of terror. The occasional flash exemplified faded and cracked orange walls that foreseen the ongoing animalistic behavior of a psychopath and his obsessive cohort. _‘Puddin…’_ Breathed Harley, the smaller and infatuated jester whispered, underneath the one she marveled. Her hands sculpted the Joker’s shoulders, implanting her slender digits among the translucent flesh before embedding darken polished nails into her envisioned mantle of perfection. A grunt left from the male, she provoked, with such a sweet and mildly innocent manner.

“How many times have I told you not to call me…Puddin’” This was meant to be something of a warning. However, the bite from this tree had momentarily vanished considering the current situation at hand, as Joker lay bare along his partially unclothed familiar. His tall figure entwined within his playmate’s own, languidly, gyrating his hips into burly thrusts: eagerly fulfilling a willingly cavern of delight and ecstasy. _‘…I-I do not want the B-man to t-take you away…’_ A voiced concern leapt off Harley’s semi-glossed lips, tinged with trinkets of saliva from the Joker’s endeavors of the tongue, prior. One heated kiss that she will remember for future nights to come if things would fall for the worse. She moaned, nearly pleaded with him as she reeled within the fact that her pudding ravaged her body; displaying a strong sense of affection her way.

The Joker witnessed this little arousing feat with a chilling smile. “Harls…I always come back. Now, give this girl a show.” He pronounced with such confidence and even in an imitation high-pitched giggle that his Doll taught him in the means to straddle the fence of the opposite sex. _‘O-Oh, of course…Mistah—err…Misses J._ ’ the following gender bending clown stuttered, whilst closing her sapphires as Joker proceeded to bite her neck; leaving her nearly breathless whilst she whimpered as shimmers of bliss imprisoned her beckoning frame. Upon hearing the whine from applying his ‘bite’ Joker closed his eyes as he carelessly fisted the artificial tresses of the wig; reeling within the sensation of complete domination, he protrudes the tip of his tongue over the abrasion…appeasing his unexpected taste for Harley, prior.

Admittedly, a small groan left from his smeared red petals as he heard how feeble she sounded; how she needed him to live. Although, he knew, she was a big girl and could count her 1-2-3’s and say her ABC’s just fine. The fantasy and times, realities of throwing her around like a toy—his Harlequin doll was simply divine. The sight was of course, undeniable as he was a man after all. The mounds of her flesh recoil brushing up against his chest underneath that frilly bra requesting to be touched, groped, bit, licked, pinched, flicked and lastly, suckled upon. The tendencies of man knocked on the proverbial door and he felt the instinctual need to defile the warmth of her slick cavern on his stained thick appendage, repeatedly.

Even underneath the constant voiced struggle of their captive, Harvey Bullock. The dynamic duo of insanity somehow managed to use those noises of their captive’s uncomfortable disposition and unruly weather to become lost within the luring of cloud nine. However, the mad man did not follow in the chemical mindset of achieving orgasm; he recoiled, revealing his erect and glistening manhood as he reached up and snatched off the black curly wig from his head. The green haired comedian pointed at the struggling detective. Whilst, speaking toward Harley, “Get ready baby doll…time is of the essence; thirty-minutes, left.”

The sultry musings of his words—Hell, his performance of vaguely taking her had caused the woman dressed in drag to swoon on the mattress; a hand over her face, panting. She just wished the Holiday was just those two and not another tiff with the Bat…but what could she do? Joker was her Puddin; she fallen for the worse kind, the one that could take her heart and never dare let it go.

Meanwhile, undergo the rumbling of the slick pavement by the speediness of the Batmobile and the flare reigning from the exhausts mimicking hellfire within the crime ridden streets of Gotham. Thoughts of the Dark Crusader flourished about in the forefront of one’s mind entangled with the automated debriefings from the computer back in the Bat Cave. It was mostly aged old static or scrambled laughter from the faulty connection of the Joker and his obsessive cohort Harley. 134 kilometers towards destination… Thick gloves suddenly gripped the steering wheel as repetitive shimmers of faint light from street lights above left an almost hypnotizing display among the bulky machine. Foolish…It would be foolish to listen to a psychopath’s words and not expect a catch. Things were never easy or simple with the Joker…and he was nervous. More so, on his reaction towards the feed than the tussle with the crazed manic as it was predictable, almost controlled. Almost. Batman knew that from the years of fighting teeth and nail with the Joker. His punch lines were usually killers; the savior of Gotham wondered what was underneath the deranged comedian’s sleeves. Since, striking on Holidays was usually Calendar Man’s MO—He wondered why Joker called him out on this particular day, besides the projected perverseness on the screen, prior. 96 kilometers towards destination… The built-in global positioning system warned the Grimm hero as he mentally prepared himself for the battle of his life…

As the Heavens persistently cleansed the filthy streets of Gotham, two clowns, scurried to have their captive along the bed, pant less and poised on all fours; it was a dilemma but the duo got it done as their roped swine settled in between the jeering clown’s legs. The jeering clown, Joker, humorously covered his mouth, laughing, as he watched the portly detective avoid visual of his saluted member that glistened with his partner-in-crime’s sexual presence and focused on ashen thighs. Nevertheless, all of that had changed when his model of perfection pronounced her newly edition upon her body. There was a shift in the mattress as Harley held her new toy suspended over her claded sex. It was a pink colored prosthetic of the male’s genitalia. “Owhh, Harley are you really going to do…it?” He teased, Harvey, snatching the male’s chubby face; observing the uptight expression hidden underneath remnants of desert as the spoken upon woman eased herself within the tightened entrance of the kidnapped officer’s backside. Immediately, a hindered howl against the ball gag surfaced into the atmosphere of the cheap motel room and even graced the demented entertainer with a bit of a show as emerald hued witness brown ones…widen like saucers.

“Yeah, I hear the first time hurts like Hell…” Joker giggled as he watched his female companion roll her hips in memorized rhythm that was ‘taught’ onto her by her Puddin, prior. Soon, smacks along the forced submissive officer’s backside clamored the ears of all that was present as well the feminine moans of his cohort. Which, the criminal found devilishly sexy. However, Joker’s musings were interrupted Bullock’s pained grunts. “Oh, I can’t stand to see Harley having all the fun!” He exclaimed, reaching down to unlatched the over-sized and ferociously sweating officer’s gag and before anything could be said; Joker aimed his long barrel revolver at the male.

“Open wide, baby cakes…I want you to perform a re-enactment for me. You know the ones…” He shyly, gestured the body of the revolver along the span of his arousal. A vivid shake of Bullock’s head followed, instantly. Nonetheless, the psychopath continued with his beckoning. “Hm? What is the matter…?” Joker drawled as he pressed the tip of the killing device alongside his victim’s temple. Soon, he reached over, digging in the groaning detective’s jacket, and pulled out a cigar. “Don’t know how to…suck…a cock?” Following the gun male’s words, the overwhelmed officer rushed out a ‘ _Fuck you!_ ’ In response, the demented individual with a smile along his face pressed back on the hammer of the long barreled revolver; producing that finalized ‘ _click_ ,’ a path between life and death. “No…No…I will be doing the fucking, fat boy.” Joker mused as he ordered the following. “Mirror me.”

Exhausted eyes, narrowed as the police officer withstood the pain that would occasionally send his body forth in a sense momentary bliss. Harley was hitting that sweet spot that would cause him momentary blindness from the time-measured assault on the small bud that betrayed his willpower to stay tough through the clown and his dame’s perverted Hell. Surely, the Bat costumed freak would come and save him, right? Bullock gripped the sheets aimlessly scattered among the mattress; ignoring his stout and undersized sex dribble with building excitement that stained bedding, below.

Joker poised the cigar in front of his ruby red lips and languidly scurried the tip of his tongue along the bud of the cylinder device of cancer. A small chuckle left his lips as he felt the engaging warmth along his awaiting manhood. “Good, good…” The green haired instructor continued his teachings by wetting the sides of the cigar, before ultimately clasping the end with his lips, firmly. “Mmhm,” Concluding his lesson with a pleasured sigh as he enforced his unwilling student to perform fellatio. Inside the male’s jacket, once more for a lighter—a curse left him as he felt that insatiable commotion along his fixed length inside the officer’s mouth. “Mngh, skipping a head a few pages of the book are ya?” The subtle sound of the lighter igniting the cigar immersed in between the Joker’s lips was barely heard over the thumping of the rain along the window pane as he suckled the cancerous smoke; whilst, laying back among the headboard with a pleasured moan-half laugh.

“Hell, I don’t mind longs you skip the—Teeth!” His speech interrupted by the ‘ _sharp_ ’ inter-wishing seizing his twitching flesh. Ironically, enough the demented individual shouted in time with the vigorous thunder. “Son of a bitch!” From there on, the sizzle of flesh filled the atmosphere as Joker burnt the officer’s temple with the cigar. Whilst, he ignored Harley’s worried inquiries among his bitten manhood entwined with Bullock’s pained yells before ordering her to continue her methods of abuse that she should make them harder and frequent and the officer to shut it.

**Author's Note:**

> This is another contribution piece for my favorite fandom that I had started on my role-playing tumblr; a year ago, now. Hopefully, placing this piece of here will inspire me to continue. Enjoy!


End file.
